A Funeral Home is Better Than None
by iwillroccyou
Summary: It must have been at least a week since they've found the home, and a week of a strange calm that both Beth Greene and Daryl Dixon could get used to. Subtle Daryl/Beth. Season 4 Spoilers. Three-part One-Shot. Rated T for language.
1. Home Sweet Home

NOTE: this is sort of like my previous fic "Like a Wedding Dress Needs Dirt", where it's just a quick little study on what could have happened between the time Daryl and Beth find the funeral home, settle in, and Beth gets kidnapped- they'll be three parts to this fic.

1- Home Sweet Home

They'd struck gold, that's all Daryl could think when he looked into the funeral home, empty now besides him and Beth. It was a sad thing, this abandoned building with it's drafty white walls and its dark passageways, surprisingly clean despite the obvious apocalypse that raged outside. It seemed that the building would have looked the same even without Walkers banging at the door, the same sad ambiance that surrounded death clinging to the structure without the twinge of fear that came with it on the outside.

It was strangely fitting.

Lying now in the casket he's made his makeshift bed, Daryl Dixon looked at the piano Beth sang at only the night before. The room was still warm with her sweet, melodic voice, and he was sure that if he closed his eyes he could still hear her echoed around the high ceilings of the white room. It had been a long time since he's heard music, whether it be from the first night that Beth sang at the prison, or the rough sound of a cheap jukebox nearly four years earlier in a rundown bar.

When he stood in the doorway, drawn by the sound of the piano and the silky sound of her soft southern voice he found a second of momentary peace. The candles casted an orange glow in the room that illuminated only her and the piano, her back turned to him but her blonde tangled hair looking smooth and catching the light to almost seem like a halo. She sounded like an angel, and Daryl almost felt bad about what he had yelled at her, that day seeming to be far behind them now, and about how she must think he hates her singing.

It was a weird and cruel twist of fate that they were the ones thrown together in the mess that happened at the prison. Daryl Dixon and Beth Greene, polar opposites in every aspect, now a duo. Daryl had only shared a few words with Beth before the fall of the prison, and he respected her for her ability to keep it mostly together, and that damn stubborn side of her might irk him sometimes, he could still respect her for the strength she's been showing these past few days- plus he knew he wasn't Mr. Sunshine all the time either. When he stood in that doorway he found he was momentarily taken by the sweet sound of her voice, enraptured almost by the reminiscing and hypnotizing sound of her singing at the funeral piano. There was a strange emotion that was invoked in him at the sound of her singing voice, the gentle and soprano tune immediately calming him. The Walkers had drifted away, his woes of the prison melted, as he stood in the doorway and simply listened to her he felt more relaxed than he had in a long time. And when he walked into the room and she heard him, the music stopping, he almost immediately missed it.

When he requested that she sing again, the playful, "I thought you didn't like my singing," stung only slightly, the underlying meaning behind it reminding him of when he lost his temper with her (an instance he won't let happen again), and also reminding him of what an ass he had been to her in the beginning of their survival oriented journey. He had swung himself into the comfortable casket, pleased to find that it was soft, although a quick bitter thought of how even the dead had it better than him, even when it came to beds, came and went just as quickly. "Well, there ain't no jukebox, so..." She had smiled at that, agreeing to sing for him.

The sweet, young Beth Greene singing to the hardened, old Daryl Dixon while he laid in a casket was a sight to behold- a funeral fit for a king. He knew that before the apocalypse he would have never had a funeral like this, maybe he'd get a spot in a graveyard- but it wouldn't be in no damn plush coffin with a pretty girl to sing him a pretty song, that was for sure. He watched her as she sang, drinking in the sight of her fair skin glowing in the orange light, her eyes darkened in the dim atmosphere as she opened her pink mouth and letting her heavenly singing voice fill the once still and quiet room. Her voice let a warmness into the air, the sad sound of the song with the warm, orange glow of the candles mixed in the funeral parlor, making a sweet mixture of life and death in the white room. Daryl had let his eyes drift to the ceiling, tearing his eyes from her shoulders that moved with her fingers over the piano keys, and the slight movement of her ponytail as she sang.

Whether or not he was consciously aware of it, the sound of her voice had lulled him into a peaceful state he hadn't felt for a long time- maybe there was a memory of a lounge singer, a distant song on the radio, or maybe even a song sung to him by a woman long forgotten- but it was Beth Greene he was aware of, and the unmistakable ache in his chest at the sound of her voice made him think that he was a fool, a goddamn fool- but a fool that would die for a pretty girl nonetheless.


	2. Be Good

Beth always had a positive outlook when it came to her surroundings, whether it was ingrained in her through her Daddy raising her, or it was simply a trait that she was born with. The funeral home was no exception to this, because she was truly grateful for the building, and the safety she felt within it's walls. Even if it was a funeral home, every home now was the sight of a funeral.

She traced her finger over some fake flowers, white and green and undeniably fake; feeling the soft rubber and letting a small smile come to her face as she pretended they were real. It was a silly thing to think, but Beth craved something beautiful in the destroyed world, even if it was only flowers. She tried to imagine how the funerals in this building must have looked when the world was normal, and came to the conclusion that they would have been beautiful, with the fake white flowers, the glowing orange candles and the piano playing a sad tune in lamentation; there was a calming atmosphere that clung to the walls. The other day, the day they arrived, when Daryl had said that they could stay for a while, Beth was a little surprised but happy at the same time. Daryl didn't seem the type to want to stay in one place for too long, she was sure that they would just swipe some supplies and go- but the appeal of the loaded funeral home was something that Beth could definitely get used to.

Then there was the strange cycle they were getting into in the home. Beth had mostly stayed in the front two rooms, looking around at the books on the shelves, the pictures of people long gone, strolling around casually in the place that she begun to call home. Or at least a sweet sanctuary. Daryl was usually found in various places, doing the same she was, snooping around in closets and cabinets, scanning through various books in order to discover a little bit of entertainment in their mostly quiet days at the home. Not that either of them minded, being in a relaxed and boring situation was better than being hunted by the undead.

At least that was how Beth saw it.

And there was the relationship that Beth and Daryl were slowly building in their days in close proximity to each other at the funeral home. At the prison it was different- they could avoid each other as hard as they wanted through all of the people and rooms that were in the building- but here they had no choice but to interact. It had gotten easier from the beginning, from the first couple of days where Daryl didn't speak much and Beth let the realization of what they lost slowly sink in. At least now Beth could crack a light-hearted joke and Daryl would share a small smirk with her. It was a relief, to be honest. Beth didn't want to ruin whatever they had slowly built up, knowing about the ups and downs that could come quickly and suddenly from just the smallest comment. Her "I've never been to prison," taught her that.

During the day it was quiet, a slow progression that Beth enjoyed as she muddled through the objects in the funeral home- although avoiding the basement like the plague. Funeral homes and embalming always reminded Beth of the slaughter, being as her father had a hand in preparing some of the cows and pigs they had at the farm, a lifetime ago it seems. The dead bodies and the process always made her sick. The accompanied sound of screaming animals never helped her, either. She was sure she saw Daryl down there once, probably snooping around for some supplies they could use, or simply curious (with Daryl it could have been a mix of both), but she hasn't seen him down there again, and she didn't ask if he found anything. She had been serious about how beautiful she thought it was, especially when they realized it was Walkers that was being embalmed... someone did care, and that was beautiful. Though that didn't mean she was going to spend more time than she had to in the basement, the thought that probably hundreds to thousands of bodies passed through that room made her skin crawl slightly, even considering where the world was now. There was a different kind of death that hung around this building, a calming kind, but unfamiliar. It relaxed and set her on edge at the same time, and Beth didn't know how she felt about it, exactly.

At night there was a tradition they had formed without even knowing it. Once the sun went down they had dinner by candlelight, sitting at the small dining room table and enjoying the spoils they found in the cabinet. Finding canned fruit was a treat, since there hadn't been an abundance of sweet fruit since the world stopped. Beth enjoyed the cherries and Daryl had a soft spot for the pears- Daryl always pushed aside the cherries for her, and she would always save some pears for Daryl. It had been an unspoken deal between them, and Beth secretly enjoyed the token of companionship. Although there had been moments at the table that still brought a smile to her face. Beth had laughed when Daryl drank the syrup, "Waste not, want not," he joked with the can around his pressed to his lips, Beth had nodded but joked back "Not drinking that nasty sugar water, though." He laughed right back.

After dinner they went their separate ways for an hour or so, but they always found themselves at the same place. Beth pressed her fingers softly against the piano keys, in her head reviewing all of the songs she had once taught herself, and all the songs she had learned from her church. Once she had known nearly a hundred songs by heart, but with all of the things that have happened, whether it be simply from lack of practice or not thinking about music for so long- the songs had drifted from her memory. But by simply placing her hands against the piano keys she begins to remember slowly some songs that would never leave her. Church songs mostly, hymns she had played a thousand times for people in pews and just for herself too.

Daryl comes into the room without a word, now it seemed they didn't need words, and Daryl had never been one to speak so much anyway, and plops himself down into the casket and throws an arm over his eyes. Beth always sends me a small smile and thinks over all the songs she sung and can sing, and always picks her favorites.

"You sang this one the other night."

Beth pauses at the piano and frowns slightly, glancing over at him and back at the piano. "I did?" She wasn't going to mention that she was surprised that Daryl had been paying attention, although maybe there was a part of her that wasn't surprised.

"Yea, you know any other ones?"

Beth raised and eyebrow and looked over at him. "You don't like that one?" She challenged him lightly, her tone slightly playful as she looked at the rugged redneck lounging in the coffin.

Daryl lifted his arm a small amount and looked at her out of the corner of his eye, "I didn' say that."

"Maybe we should start takin' turns at the piano, 'specially if you start getting picky about songs," she smiled and looked at him out of the corner of her eyes, rolling them slightly before she turned back to the piano, shrugging her slight shoulders casually as she thought of another song she could play."I'm jus' kiddin'," she added then.

"Good, 'cause I can't sing for shit. Play that first one, from the first night."

"'Be Good'?" Beth's smile was small but fond as she nodded and turned back to the piano, fingers knowing where to place themselves on the keyboard. She played the first notes, her voice joining the beautiful melody, "_It's unclear now, what we intend, we're alone in our own world_," Her fingers moved and hit the keys- Daryl laid frozen, watching her as she sat at the piano and played the song. "_You don't wanna be my boyfriend, and I don't wanna be your girl_," her ponytail swayed like he had all the previous nights, her head moving back and forth slightly as her eyes followed the movements of her fingers, and Daryl distantly wondered what her hair would look like if it was down. "_And that, that's a relief, we'll drink up our grief, and pine for summer_," His eyes didn't move from her, watching as she was taken by the music, the world around her long forgotten by simply a few notes being played on the piano. "_And we'll buy beer to shotgun, and we'll lay in the lawn, and we'll be good_," for a while Daryl listened to her sing, relaxing back against the white plush of the coffin, staring at the ceiling and only half-interested in the words, focusing on the soprano tones that drifted around the room, "_Now I've got friendships to mend, I'm selfishly dispossessed, you don't wanna be my boyfriend, and that's probably for the best, because that, that gets messy, and you will hurt me, or I'll disappear_," she stopped playing, finger still resting on the keys as she paused.

Daryl lifted his head slightly and looked at her, curious for a moment to see why she stopped. And then he could see her shoulders slightly shaking, and unmistakeable tears on her cheeks. "Beth?"

She sniffled, "I'm sorry," her voice was a whisper. She lifted her hands off the piano and irritably wiped her cheeks, an small embarrassed laugh escaping her as her eyes continue to push out tears. "This song," she tapped one of the keys lightly with her pointer finger, so it made no sound, but the motion was comforting for her. "I just... I feel like it fits right now. With my life. I have no idea why it made me cry like that," She gave another laugh and wiped her eyes once more, "Sorry, I'll play some more."

"Ya don' have to." Daryl had sat up in the coffin, feeling as guilty as all hell for choosing a song that made her cry- even if he had no earthly idea that it would make her cry.

She glanced at him, blue eyes swimming still with tears. "You sure?"

Daryl looked away, finding himself unable to hold her gaze for too long, "Yea, I'm sure. We can jus' get some rest. We ain't gotta bring attention to how shitty life is righ' now."

Beth gave him a strange, large smile, her eyes still shining with tears that still brimmed in her big blue eyes, shaking her head slightly, "I didn't mean it in a bad way, Daryl."

He glanced at her, into her eyes, and immediately away. Looking like a dog that just got kicked, he hopped out of the coffin to go to the room he had set up on the second floor for himself. Beth watched him without a word, feeling foolish for getting so emotional simply over a song, but its words rang true.

"_And that's probably for the best_," she sang under her breath, tapping the piano again once more before following where Daryl went up the stairs, to her room right across from his. When the door closed, the song still echoed around her head, lyrics swimming- it was the same for Daryl.


	3. Miss Me When I'm Gone

"_Beth_!" His first and only thought. Hearing the terrifying sound of squealing tires on asphalt, and watching as they sped away Daryl could think of nothing else. The discarded bag wasn't his concern, it's missing owner was. He repeated her name, without conscious thought or reasoning doing the only thing he could do- he chased after the car like his life depended on it. Like Beth's life depended on it. There could be nothing on the road that would stop him from chasing the black sedan as it sped away with his companion, and he tried to search the retreating, tinted windshield to see if she was at least fighting them- but he couldn't see. He ran for what felt like hours, but could have been only minutes. Or it could have felt like minutes, but it was hours- he didn't know, he wasn't thinking. There could be any place the car was now, anywhere Beth was. With anyone. The thought enraged him, fueled him to chasing down the road for the kidnappers and his lost friend.

The crossroads made him stop, chest heaving, body drenched from sweat because of the hot Georgia heat that was starting to make him light-headed. Collapsing on the ground was the only thing he could do, his body was protesting against the pain of running for so long, for so hard, his heart pounding from fear and exertion. He couldn't think straight, he couldn't make the wrong decision and lose her forever, he didn't want to take that step, he didn't even want to chance of choosing wrong and taking him farther and farther away from her.

Although his thoughts were muddled from his exhaustion there were reoccurring thoughts that he went over. He'd failed her. He should have been there for her- he should have checked the fucking door before opening it... but he wasn't thinking. That last night, "What changed your mind?" How he couldn't say just one simple word to her, frozen by her big blue eyes and smiling mouth, his mouth going dry. It had flustered him. Daryl Dixon, flustered by a girl with pretty blue eyes and long, tangled blonde hair that sang pretty songs and made him change his mind about the world. The word he should have said was moving around his mind, "You. You. You. You changed my mind. You changed my whole fucking life."

It was a cruel twist of fate that he would be sitting here, failing the one girl he promised he'd protect with his life, empty-handed and alone. Two things he was scared of the most.


	4. Reunion

**Bonus chapter for the lovely reviewers who thought it would be a good idea- shout-out to Captain Kraken and Jj! 3 Here's a prediction/speculation chapter for how Daryl might find Beth if Joe and them hadn't shown up, and when he finds Beth.**

"_You're gonna be the last man standing_," Her words haunted him, as any ghost would. That entire night haunts him, sitting on the porch of the shitty redneck home that reminded him so much of his past life, a bitter reminder, no doubt. Although sitting across from the doe-eyed, drunk Beth Greene had been an addition to the scene that Daryl was glad for. If he was there alone, maybe he would have relived those terrible memories- but she grounded him, brought him back. It had been the first time he let her in, something he realized he should have done a long time ago. But he had been angry. Angry at the Governor, angry at the weak fortitude of the prison, angry at himself- because ultimately the guilt of the situation fell on him, even if it was his fault or not. He was always like that, from since he can remember. He had felt guilty about his father, about the abuse his mother got, even about the abuse he suffered. Now he sees it wasn't his fault, but Daryl Dixon had been born a victim, made into a victim, and had to pull himself out of the fire himself. No one saved Daryl Dixon, he saved himself. The only important lesson his father ever taught him. Merle hadn't been much help. His older brother, as much as he loved him, had done nothing but pull Daryl into trouble. And then when Merle went off to the army, left Daryl alone with his drunk of a father and his broken shell of a woman mother... he pulled himself up off the floor and did what he had to do.

But, Beth Greene... before this apocalypse Daryl wouldn't have given her a second glance, he would have probably been strung behind Merle, heading towards some drug dealer's house, and he could have glanced at her while she was in a shop. He could have bumped shoulders with her brother Shawn and looked at her as he passed, smirking playfully at the petite blonde, who would no doubt not make eye contact. No, no pretty blondes with older protective brothers and farmer fathers ever did make eye contact with him. She would have been nothing to him, a shadow of a person he didn't have to trouble himself with, maybe he'd think about her again, maybe see her face in a quick dream- but Daryl had seen so many faces, bumped into so many people... it wasn't likely. If someone had told him, that in four years he'd be killing dead people and worrying himself to death about an eighteen year old with a farmer father and a dead family he would have scoffed and told them to take another puff. But here he was.

He traced his fingers over the hot asphalt, blue eyes narrowed to dangerous slits as he looked at the road. The leaves were recently pushed to the side, he could see that, but the roads could be so deceiving. It could have been the wind, or even a car from another group, like Glenn with the truck... but the chances that it was a another car wasn't likely. He had to make a choice, although it was hard for him to. If he went the wrong way it would just take him farther and farther away from her, and Daryl was so afraid of being alone... He couldn't afford to take the wrong turn, but he had to leave it up to his instincts. And his instincts were telling him to go straight.

So he did. He looked at the road and up, then at the other path, and decided that he had no choice but to follow his instincts. Heart stuck in his throat he took off at the speed had had in the beginning before his collapse on the ground. He had to find her. There was nothing else in this mind other than finding her, and killing the people that took her.

It was just when he had admitted there was a good people still in the world that she was snatched right from under him. Those Walkers... there was no way he had let them gather like that, they had to be released at his door. It must have been a drawn out ploy, from the very beginning. The clean and perfect house, the orderly food, Daryl knew that soda was too good to be fucking true- he had been a fool. It's his fault. He let her out of his sight, and now she's God knows where... with God knows who... doing God knows what with her. The thought infuriated him. And that thought was the fuel that drove him to continue forward in pursuit of Beth. The only petite blonde that had ever looked him in the eyes and didn't shy away.

He ate charred mud-snakes mid-day at a shitty little camp he made in two seconds, letting himself only rest thirty minutes at a time before he was up again, walking. He checked every building he passed, looked into every room and killed any Walker in his path. He didn't have time to hesitate or dilly-dally- his concern was Beth. And he wasn't going to abandon her. He wasn't going to be Merle. He pledged that a long time ago, but in this moment he felt it the strongest.

The town was a little one-hundred population shithole Daryl had passed a thousand times before on runs. He recognized the area, scouting out with Michonne- knowing the little shops and the one ominous warehouse he had always had strange feelings about. This time the feelings were changed, instead of a slight uneasiness about what could be in the darkened building there was an intense rage, a fire that he had been stroking and feeding for the few days that he had been simply following his instincts, praying that they'd lead him back to her. That black car, the little black sedan that had zoomed away from him with Beth- it sat in front of the warehouse, pitch black except for the Georgia dirt that speckled its sides, darkened and smudged it's windshield.

Daryl lifted his crossbow, moving cautiously and slowly to the car, eyes looking at the car and taking in it's details, making sure although he knew he didn't have to, and looking up at the warehouse. Its sides were gray and rusted, a line of big windows on the second story half of the warehouse, most of the glass broken. There had been a fire in it, Daryl assumed from the beginning of the outbreak, because he could see the old streaks of black where the fires had licked up the side of the metal, the reason the windows were void of glass. Unfortunately they were boarded up, so there could be no way for Daryl to find his way to an opening of one of those windows and look in to see how many there were, and what the best way to kill all of them would be. Although, it was also good. Those motherfuckers wouldn't see him coming.

He glanced at the main door of the building and frowned, eyes narrowed in calculation as he held the crossbow up to his eye-line, placing one of his large calloused hands against the metal to slowly ease it open. It wasn't locked. Although the door squealed slightly as he slowly pushed it, he wasn't entirely worried about being incognito forever. He was going to kill them all.

The building had dim lighting, the smell of hot metal and mold met his nose and he moved carefully and slowly into the building. There were rows of shelves with burned equipment, looking untouched for the four or so years that the sickness has raged on, and Daryl moved carefully in between them, eyes searching for any signs of life.

He found it. Against one of the walls was a table set up, an overhead light illuminated the table and the people that sat around it. Three men sat with cards in their hands, smoking up a storm as they laughed and talked with each other at the table. Daryl narrowed his eyes slightly in calculation. Where was Beth? He could feel it in his gut that these men were behind her kidnapping, they seemed the type. And the car out in front was irrefutable evidence against them.

"You're lyin'," One of he men laughed around a cigarette in his mouth, the stick bouncing with the movement of his lips and sending ashes floating gently down. A plume of smoke followed his statement, and then men around him chuckled at his statement.

"I ain't lyin'." It was a younger man that spoke, reminding Daryl of kids he'd seen in his previous life, young dogs willing to do anything to prove themselves. The young man's tone showed that he was offended by the older man's comment, puffing his chest in a macho manner. Not much has changed in the world, apparently. "I'm tellin' the truth, that bitch won't cry."

"You know how much Chaz hates that." Muttered the third, shaking his head at his cards.

"You'd think every bitch would cry nowadays." Muttered the first man that had spoken. "Most do," he added, removing the cigarette from his mouth and tapping it into one of the ashtrays.

"They don't expect it," said the second man with a large, wolfish grin. Daryl suppressed a shudder, the expression reminding him of the look his father would give him before beating him. The rage was still a fire in his chest, he fed it slowly as he eased forward. "If you don't make that bitch cry, boy, Chaz ain't gonna be too happy."

"He has other girls."

"He wants_ that_ girl," defended the second man, placing his cards on the table. "I have to take a piss." He stood, and glared at the two of them with a threatening finger, "No cheating. I know the last time I took a piss you peeked, assholes."

The gruff, older man scoffed, "You're paranoid, Jack."

"Better paranoid than bein' cheated. I'll beat your ass if you peek."

With that the middle man walked away from the table, towards Daryl. He slid himself into the shadows, pressing his back against the charred wall of the building, eyes watching the man carefully. He tensed, preparing himself for what was to come.

As the man came closer Daryl leaned out and punched him, as hard as he could. As hard as his arm would allow, dazing him instantly before wrapping one of his strong tanned arms around his neck and pressing his crossbow to the back of his head.

"What the_ fuck_!?" The man hissed, spraying blood from his bleeding nose that dripped over his lips. The man clutched Daryl's arm but couldn't released the strong grip he held on him.

"Keep quiet, asshole." Daryl growled, leading out of the shadows with his crossbow still pressed against the older man's head, leading them into the light for the other two to see.

"Jack!" Barked the gruff older gentleman, scrambling from the table and reaching for his gun.

"Don't fucking move or I'll put an arrow through his head," Daryl said, strangely calm with his crossbow securely pressed against one of the kidnapper's heads. The two looked terrified, and confused.

"Who the fuck are you, man?" Cried the younger man, glaring at Daryl with conviction.

"You took my friend. I want her back."

The man Daryl held scoffed, blood sprayed some more, splattering the floor in front of them. "She ain't the same, buddy boy. You lookin' for your girl, but she ain't the same." Daryl didn't respond to his taunt, clenching his jaw as he pressed the bow harder against the man's balding scalp.

"Where is she?" he growled instead.

"She ain't the same, she ain't the same..." mumbled the man locked in Daryl's grip. The two men didn't answer him, and he was seeing red. Daryl had never boasted himself as a smart man, but he knew, the way that he knew when his father was going to beat him, when he knew that Merle was going to leave- he knew what they did to Beth, an action he could never forgive. On a sick level he could forgive his father for losing his temper, he could forgive Merle for leaving, but he couldn't forgive anything involving the pain these men must have afflicted on Beth.

He didn't want to deal with this anymore. He didn't want to deal with them anymore. He'd find her himself.

He removed the crossbow from the back of Jack's head and without warning shot the younger man in the head, and knowing that in shock and retaliation the older man on the other end of the room would try and shoot at him. He used Jack as a human shield, ducking behind the shots as they came fast, hearing the soft entry of bullets into the man's flesh. He waited until the other man had to reload before he shot him, the battle quickly over as Daryl took his knife out of it's scabbard and shoved it into the ear of Jack, and letting his body hit the floor.

He stepped over Jack, his stress relieved once he realized that he had killed the men that had kidnapped Beth, all except one. Although he had to find Beth, killing the last one could wait until he had Beth in his arms.

"Beth?" His voice might have shook, but he didn't notice. He moved past the table, past the three bodies he had just put on the floor. There were a company of other rooms that led to charred storage rooms, some of the rooms had sleeping bags on the floor, looking unwashed and filthy. He looked over the lumpy sleeping-bags distantly, unseeing except for the sight that he craved the most. He repeated her name, hearing his voice echo in the dark corridors of the burnt warehouse building.

"Daryl?" was the weak response from the shadows, and he felt his stomach both turn and drop at the same time, quickly moving forward to retrieve her. There was a large box-like shape towards one of the back corners of the storage rooms, with a blanket over it. Daryl felt the anger returning when he realized it was a cage, the blanket covering the bars reminding him of a crate for a dog. He snatched the blanket off the top of the bars, and clenched his teeth as he saw Beth curled into one of the corners, covered in dirt and looking bruised.

When she looked up and saw him Daryl swallowed thickly at the bright smile that lit her face, "I knew you'd show up," she said, her voice hoarse.

"Let's get you out of here," he said simply, his voice gentle as he looked at the padlock that kept her trapped and frowned at it, "Stay back," he waved her back and took out of he pistol tucked in the back of his pants. He didn't waste time with searching for the keys, he only was worried about getting her out of there as quickly as possible.

He shot the lock and heard the satisfying sound of it hitting the cement.

"Daryl..." her voice was shaky, the small and quiet whine of a girl thankful to see him again. She crawled from the cage and stood on wobbly knees- he immediately rushed forward and embraced her, and was relieved to feel the returned pressure of her wrapping her arms around his neck and hugging him back. Daryl remembered the young man's words, about how she didn't cry.

She was crying now, hard and silently into the crook of his neck, and he wasn't going to let her go. He wouldn't ever let her go again.


End file.
